CHAPTER VII.
"Station A----. One minute's stop!"
The conductor hastily opened the door of a second-class carriage and helped out a young lady, civilly handed her her travelling-bag and railway wrap, clambered into his place again, and in a few moments the train was out of sight.
The young lady was the only passenger who had left the train; therefore the gentleman who had been walking to and fro on the platform for a quarter of an hour easily recognized her as the person for whom he had been waiting. He approached her, and, raising his hat, said, courteously, "Have I the honour of addressing Fräulein Anna Müller? I am the Finanzrath von Hohenwald."
"Have you come yourself, Herr Finanzrath, in spite of this terrible weather? It is really too kind."
There was surprise as well as great satisfaction in the smile with which Werner looked at the young lady; he was in truth deeply impressed by her striking beauty.
Fräulein Müller was by no means equally pleased. She had supposed the Finanzrath to be a much older man; his fresh, smooth-shaven face looked to her very youthful, and she was not agreeably impressed by the satisfied smile with which he contemplated her.
It was but a moment that Werner devoted to his scrutiny of the lady; he now bowed even lower and more respectfully than at first, and said, with extreme politeness, "I was too much rejoiced, Fräulein Müller, that I had been able to induce you to come to Hohenwald to allow another than myself to be the first to welcome you here. Moreover, I felt it my duty to meet you, since I was the cause of your accepting a position for the difficulties of which you are perhaps not fully prepared. Before you enter Castle Hohenwald you ought to have a more vivid idea of those with whom your life there will be passed than it was possible to give you in my short letter. I described as impartially as I could the difficulties of your position, but there is much that you should know, which I shall be able to tell you during our drive to the castle, which in this weather, and from the consequent state of the roads, must needs be a slow one. And now let me conduct you to the carriage as quickly as possible; it will, I fear, be quite late and very dark by the time we reach Hohenwald."
Then taking her travelling-bag, and offering her his arm, which after a moment's hesitation she accepted, he led her through the station-house to where a close travelling carriage was awaiting them.
The wind howled, and the rain poured in torrents. The Finanzrath was assiduous in his attentions, holding his umbrella over his companion as she got into the carriage, then hurrying to see that the porter fastened her luggage securely in its place behind the carriage. Not until all was arranged to his satisfaction did he take his seat beside her in the well-cushioned vehicle. The rattling of the carriage over the stones while the road led through the town of A---- prevented all conversation, and enabled the Finanzrath to observe his companion attentively without attempting any of his promised communications.
He was impressed anew by the girl's extraordinary beauty; an expression of melancholy that vanished when she spoke, but which characterized her features in repose, made her still more attractive, while it afforded the Finanzrath--who remembered all that Frau von Adelung had hinted to him of Fräulein Müller's misfortunes--an explanation of her readiness to accept the offer of a position at Castle Hohenwald. At length the carriage left the paved streets and entered upon the country road leading to the castle. Although the wind howled about the vehicle and the rain pelted against its windows, conversation had become possible.
The Finanzrath was a clever man; it was but natural that his lively portrayal of the inmates of the castle should interest Fräulein Müller extremely. She listened eagerly, only interrupting him now and then by brief questions, which he answered readily. With an impartiality which was surely worthy of all praise, Werner entered upon a detailed account of the characteristics of his nearest relatives,--his father, his brother, and his sister; he warmly extolled their good qualities--his father's kindness of heart and simple truth, Arno's stern sense of justice, his earnestness, his industry, his varied acquirements, Celia's gay good humour and childlike simplicity; but at the same time he concealed none of their faults. As he discoursed, the daylight had vanished and darkness had succeeded the short twilight. The sky was black with clouds, and within the carriage it was so dark that Anna could scarcely see the outline of her companion's figure, although he leaned towards her as he repeatedly assured her that in him she would find a friend ready to aid her in any way during her life at the castle, and begged her to confide frankly to him any wish with which he could comply.
He said not one word that circumstances did not fully warrant, and yet Anna was excessively uncomfortable. The tête-à-tête with him in the dark carriage seemed to her almost insufferable. She shrank away from him at the very time when he was speaking so gently and kindly to her that there could not be the slightest reasonable cause for her distaste of his society.
Suddenly the carriage stopped. Anna drew a long breath of relief when the Finanzrath broke off his discourse and, opening the window, asked, anxiously, "What is the matter, John? Why do you not drive on?"
"I do not know, Herr Finanzrath," a voice from the box replied, "but I think something is wrong."
"What can be wrong?" It seemed to Anna that the Finanzrath's voice trembled as he asked the question. Was he, strong man as he was, so fearful of an accident that his fear betrayed itself in his voice? The sign of weakness instantly put an end to all Anna's dread of the Finanzrath. She felt strong, indeed, in view of his timidity. No possible danger of the road in the dark night had power to alarm her. All she had dreaded had been the tête-à-tête with her companion.
The coachman did not immediately answer; he slowly descended from the box, and not until the Finanzrath asked in a tone of still greater anxiety, "What has happened, John?" did he reply, sullenly, "Nothing has happened, Herr Finanzrath, but the devil himself could not find the way in this storm; you can't see your hand before your face. I thought we had got off the road and were going towards the Grünhagen quarry, but it is all right, and we can drive on."
"No, no, don't try, for Heaven's sake, John!" the Finanzrath exclaimed, in evident terror.
"Oh, it's all right," the coachman said, with great composure. "We must drive on; we can't spend the night here in this weather."
He mounted the box again and whipped up his horses, but the next instant there was a jolt, a crash! The wheels on one side of the carriage rolled over a stone, while those on the other sank deeper and deeper into the mud, the carriage leaned more and more to one side and finally upset.
Anna felt herself tossed to one side; her head struck against some hard object. She experienced a burning pain in her temple, and was near fainting, but the next moment recalled her to herself; she did not choose to faint, and her will was victorious.
The carriage had fallen upon the side where sat the Finanzrath. Anna heard him groan as he struggled to rise.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, anxiously.
"My foot pains me terribly; I fear it is broken," he replied, in a loud, distinct voice which soothed Anna's apprehensions that his injuries might be mortal.
"I will try to open the door that is uppermost," she said; and this, after several attempts, she succeeded in doing. The rain poured down upon her, but she braved it, and exerting all her strength, she climbed out upon the side of the carriage and thence got down to the ground. At first she sank ankle-deep in the mud, but in a minute she found firm footing. "Can you possibly get out, Herr Finanzrath?" she asked.
"I will try," a voice from the carriage replied, and immediately afterward the Finanzrath looked out of the open door. He gazed about him, but in the gloom could see nothing. Anna's figure was hardly distinguishable, although she was but a few paces off. "John! John! Where are you?" Werner called loudly, but, although he repeated the call several times, there was no reply.
"I am afraid the poor fellow has had a bad fall," said Anna.
"So it seems, since he does not answer," rejoined the Finanzrath. There was not much sympathy in the tone of his voice, and still less was there in the remark that followed. "The clumsy scoundrel cannot even hold the horses after upsetting us. This is horrible! Suppose the horses should run off just as I am climbing out?"
This fear was groundless. The horses had stopped the instant the vehicle overturned. They did not stir, and the Finanzrath climbed out upon the carriage, but did not attempt to descend from it.
"Is your foot so painful that you cannot step upon it?" Anna asked, compassionately. "Can I help you? Take my hand, I pray you!"
"Thank you," he replied; "but my foot will not permit me to climb farther. What are we to do? We cannot sit here all night in the rain."
"I will seek help," Anna replied, resolutely. "The road must lead to some house or village. Wait for me here. I shall soon return with men, who can right the carriage."
"For Heaven's sake, do not go one step!" Werner cried, in great agitation. "We are close upon the quarry; there must be a deep chasm just at hand!"
"I will be very careful. At all events help must be procured. Something must be done for the poor coachman, who has given no sign of life yet; and you too, Herr Finanzrath, need assistance."
"Yes, yes; but you must not leave me. Let us both shout for help. We shall perhaps be heard. There must be labourers' cottages near the quarry. Help! help!" he thereupon shouted with all the force of his powerful lungs. And in fact scarcely had the sound died away when a distant "Halloo!" was heard.
"Thank Heaven, they have heard us!" Werner said, and then shouted again, "Help! help!"
The answering shout came nearer, and in a few moments a dark figure approached. "What is the matter here?" a rough voice asked. "A carriage upset, as I live! What the devil were you doing in the quarry at this hour?"
"We lost the road, and are greatly in need of assistance," replied Werner.
"Lost the road? Were you going to Grünhagen?"
"No; to Castle Hohenwald."
"To the castle? Then you belong to Hohenwald?"
"I am the Finanzrath von Hohenwald; but this is not the time for talking. I beg you, my friend, to help me to reach some place of security."
A burst of discordant laughter was the only reply vouchsafed to this request. After indulging in his ill-timed merriment, the new-comer inquired, "Have you ever heard of Carter Jock?"
"No; but, my friend----"
"No friend of yours! I would rather eat my head than help a Hohenwald. Any of the castle people can tell you about Carter Jock. Finely they treated him indeed; and, by way of thanks, he wishes you a pleasant night!" With another scornful laugh the man turned on his heel and would have gone, when Anna approached him, and, laying her hand on his shoulder, said, "You will not be so cruel as to desert us in our need?"
"The deuce! There's a woman in the scrape, and not the madcap Celia either!" the man exclaimed, in amazement, after having lighted a couple of matches, which the rain, to be sure, instantly extinguished, but not before he had perceived that it was not Celia who addressed him.
"A lady! a stranger!" he muttered to himself. "She must not be left all night in the quarry. The devil take the Hohenwalds; but I must let the folks at Grünhagen know what has happened."
For one moment he stood reflecting, and then, without heeding the Finanzrath's entreaties, he turned away and vanished in the darkness.
For a while Werner von Hohenwald sat silent as if in utter despair. At last a red spark of light appeared in the distance; again he shouted as loud as he could for help, and to his joy the voice that answered him was Arno's.
In a few minutes Arno, followed by several men with lighted torches, reached the overturned carriage. "I was afraid," he said, "that John would miss the road, and so came out to meet you with torches; not soon enough, unfortunately, to prevent an accident. But why do you sit up there on the carriage, Werner? Why don't you jump down?"
"The chasm must be close by, Arno."
"Nonsense! there is no chasm here. Give me your hand and spring down."
Werner grasped the hand extended to him and sprang out upon the road. His foot could not have been severely injured, since he accomplished this with apparent ease.
"Where is Fräulein Müller? I hope nothing has happened to her."
"Nothing has happened to me, Herr von Hohenwald," said Anna, who was standing in the shadow, "but I am afraid the coachman has received some injury."
Arno turned hastily, and stepped aside so that the torchlight fell full upon Anna's face. Its great beauty astonished him also, but he was shocked at the sight of a dark-red streak that extended from beneath the chestnut curls on her temple to the white kerchief about her throat, which was stained crimson. "You are bleeding?" he exclaimed, "you are hurt?"
"It is nothing. Never mind me; but let us search for the unfortunate coachman. I fear he is terribly hurt."
"Where is he? John, where are you?"
There was no reply, and Arno became alarmed. He took one of the torches from the men, and was not long in finding poor old John, who was lying unconscious by the roadside, with a terrible wound on his forehead. Arno kneeled beside him, and laid his hand upon his heart. "He is alive," he instantly declared, "but I am afraid he is very badly hurt."
"Oh, is he?" said Werner, who was seated on a stone, calmly watching his brother's proceeding. "I thought it must be so when he did not answer. But what are we to do, Arno? My foot is terribly painful."
"Indeed? It cannot be very bad, since you easily jumped from the carriage."
"Nevertheless it pains me terribly. I never can walk to the castle. Can the carriage not be righted?"
"We will see." Arno examined the carriage, but found the axle broken. "This is bad," he said. "We cannot, then, drive poor old John to Hohenwald, but we can make a litter comfortable with the carriage cushions, and you, my men, can carry him to the village."
The men assented eagerly, but the Finanzrath was not satisfied. "I should suppose," he said, peevishly, "that I might be attended to before John. I cannot possibly walk. When the men have carried me to Hohenwald they can return and fetch John."
His brother greeted this speech with a glance of contempt. "If you cannot walk," he said, coolly, "you can sit here! The old man's life, perhaps, depends upon his having surgical aid speedily."
"I cannot stay here in the pouring rain; I shall catch my death of cold!"
"Death is not easily caught of cold!" Arno rejoined, unsympathetically. "Make haste," he said to the men, who were busy constructing the litter. "Poor old John must be moved as quickly as possible."
"How far are we from Hohenwald?" the Finanzrath asked, when the litter was nearly completed.
"Three-quarters of a league from the castle and half a league from the village."
"Then the manor-house of Grünhagen must be close at hand."
"Grünhagen is not ten minutes' walk."
"Indeed? Then, Arno, I think it would be much wiser to carry John there, and I could manage to hobble there myself."
"You would go to Grünhagen?" Arno asked, and there was surprise as well as disapproval in his tone. "What business has a Hohenwald in Grünhagen? Am I to ask shelter for old John and for you of the Amtsrath Friese or young Kurt von Poseneck, only to meet with a rude refusal, or, what would be worse, with a condescending compliance, which would burden me with an obligation to them?"
"What folly!" Werner declared. "You ought to be above such prejudice, Arno. It speaks ill for your humanity that you insist upon dragging poor old John to Hohenwald."
Here one of the men whom Arno had brought with him advanced, and, taking off his hat, respectfully said, "No offence to the Herr Finanzrath, but we cannot take old John to Grünhagen."
"What do you mean?" the Finanzrath angrily inquired. "Would you disobey orders?"
"Certainly not," the man replied, exchanging a glance with his fellows. "We are old soldiers, and know how to obey always, but indeed we could not answer it to the master or to old John himself if we took him to Grünhagen. If he had his senses he would be sure to say that he would rather die than be carried to Grünhagen. And, besides, if we do take him farther, we get the doctor sooner, for our Dr. Brühn in Hohenwald would not go to Grünhagen for the world; when they want a doctor there they have to send to A----, and that is too far."
Arno nodded approvingly to the man. "You are right, Kunz; we will take John to the Hohenwald village. Lift him carefully and lay him on the cushions, and let us be off instantly."
"But, Arno, what is to become of me and of Fräulein Müller?" Werner asked, plaintively.
Anna had been no idle spectator during this time; she had helped the men to arrange the cushions on the litter, and was holding a torch to light them as they lifted the unconscious John upon it, listening the while with surprise to the conversation between the brothers. She had been disgusted with the Finanzrath's selfishness in desiring to be carried when his foot was evidently not severely hurt; and Arno's stern refusal to carry the wounded man to Grünhagen had also impressed her disagreeably. She had no desire to take any part in the discussion, but now, when the Finanzrath asked of Arno what was to become of her, she hastily interposed with, "I shall carry one of the torches, since I cannot, unfortunately, render any more important assistance; there is no occasion to waste any thought upon me."
Arno looked at her with a surprised but kindly air. "Brava!" he said. "You are brave, and I trust can walk the half-league to the village; if you are very tired I will assist you. You, Werner, must help yourself. If you cannot walk with us, creep back into the carriage and shelter yourself from the rain until I can send you assistance. And now on to Hohenwald!"
"No, Herr von Hohenwald; to Grünhagen," a strong, manly voice was now heard to say.
The voice was Kurt von Poseneck's; he emerged from the darkness into the torchlight, and, advancing towards Arno and the Finanzrath, courteously informed them that he had just heard the news of the accident in the quarry, and had instantly given orders to have a carriage prepared, while he had hurried hither to entreat the gentlemen to turn towards Grünhagen, where they would be cordially welcome, and where apartments were already prepared for them. The injured coachman, too, should have every care bestowed upon him, and a carriage should be instantly sent to fetch Dr. Brühn to Grünhagen.
Kurt spoke so kindly, so cordially, that even Arno could not help for a moment forgetting his prejudice against the Posenecks as he thanked the young man for his proffered hospitality, which, however, he declined. In vain did Werner add his entreaties to Kurt's. Arno refused to yield, and cut short all further discussion by ordering the men to proceed with the litter.
Werner was very indignant at his brother's obstinacy. "Such unreasonableness is inconceivable!" he exclaimed; "but you shall not force me, Arno, to share your folly. I accept your invitation gratefully, Herr von Poseneck, for Fräulein Müller and myself; we will return with you to Grünhagen and accept your hospitality."
"You must not speak for me, Herr Finanzrath," Anna protested. "I promised to be at Hohenwald this evening, and I shall keep my word."
"But, Fräulein Müller, you cannot surely persist in walking to Hohenwald in this weather? I will engage to excuse your delay to my father."
"I need no excuse, Herr Finanzrath," Anna replied.
In vain did Werner expend his eloquence in entreaties and representations. She carried one of the torches and walked beside the litter towards Hohenwald. She stoutly braved the storm; the wind blowing in her face cooled her burning temples, and she experienced a sense of strange satisfaction when, upon looking back, she found that the quarry was already so far in the distance that the light of the torch left with the Finanzrath gleamed like a faint spark in the black darkness of the night.
The castle clock had struck eleven, and the Freiherr von Hohenwald, who was usually rolled into his bedroom at ten precisely, was still sitting in the spacious garden-room. He was not in a good humour, as was manifested by the frown upon his forehead, which even Celia's cajoleries could not smooth. The girl was seated on a low chair beside him, endeavouring in vain to win him to cheerfulness. Sure as she usually was of an affectionate reply to her questions, to-night he would not be amiable. She had been reading aloud to him; but even that did not please him. He took the book from her, grumblingly declaring that she was inattentive, that her emphasis was all wrong; she was thinking, of course, of the new governess, on whose account the whole house was turned upside down.
As he spoke, the Freiherr glanced angrily at the table in the centre of the room spread for four people. "It capped the climax," he added, peevishly, "for Werner to tell me it was not the thing to smoke in ladies' society, I am not to be hectored after that fashion, however. Bring me my meerschaum!"
Celia sprang up and brought him his large meerschaum, with a lighted match. He usually rewarded her for this service with a loving smile, but to-night he sat puffing out clouds of smoke without a word, until he drew out his huge gold watch and said, "Ten minutes after eleven! This household is topsy-turvy. It was not enough that Werner should insanely go to meet the woman at the station himself, but that fool Arno must needs run after him. There stands the table waiting,--nine o'clock is the supper-hour, and it is now nearly midnight."
"But you had your supper at the right time, papa," said Celia.
"How would it have helped matters to have me kept waiting? It is enough that all the rest of the household suffers because of you and this governess. It was the stupidest thing I ever did to listen to Werner. What's the use of your having a governess? Your manners are quite fine enough for Castle Hohenwald, for Arno, and for me."
"Still it was very wise in you, papa, to follow Werner's advice. I can learn a great deal from a good governess, and some time, I suppose, I shall meet those who demand more than Arno or you."
"Oho! the wind has changed, then? So Werner has converted you too!"
Celia blushed. Werner had not even attempted the conversion of which his father accused him; but she did not say one word in his defence,--she could not tell her father that it was Kurt von Poseneck who had caused her change of opinion.
"Where can they be?" the Freiherr exclaimed, impatiently; "they ought to have been here by ten o'clock at the latest."
"I hope there has been no accident."
"Nonsense! The road is perfectly good, and since Arno chose to go and meet them with torches an accident is impossible. There is just as much pother about this governess as if she were a lady of distinction."
"Do not be unjust, papa! If old John, who has not driven over that road for so long, should have missed the way and got into the Grünhagen quarry, and any accident had happened to Werner or the lady, you never would forgive yourself for scolding Arno for going to meet them, Only hear how the wind howls and the rain beats against the windows. For my part, I am almost dead with anxiety lest an accident has happened. But, thank Heaven, no--there they are; I hear the carriage rattling over the stones of the court-yard."
Celia started up, and would have hurried out to meet the arrivals, but a peremptory word from her father detained her. "Stay here!" he exclaimed. "There is such a thing as being too kind. It is more than enough that Werner brings her from the station, that Arno goes to meet her, and that the table and you all are kept waiting for her. As she herself wrote, she is to be your paid companion and teacher. Remember that, child. Any undue familiarity is very undesirable."
Celia tossed her head and a reply was upon her tongue, but as she looked at her father she thought it wiser not to provoke him further, so she bit her lips and obeyed in silence. At the same time she privately determined that neither her father's command nor her brother's advice should influence her conduct towards the governess.
Her patience was put to the proof, for several minutes elapsed before the hall-doors were thrown open and Arno appeared, ushering in a lady, whom he presented. "Fräulein Anna Müller. My father, my sister Celia." This introduction he evidently considered quite sufficient, for he instantly turned from her, and, taking his father's hand, said, "We have kept you waiting a long while, father--you shall hear why when you have welcomed Fräulein Müller. I have much to tell."
The Freiherr made no reply; during the presentation he had not removed his pipe from his mouth, but when Anna approached with a slight courtesy, and, in a soft, rich voice, said, "Forgive me, Herr Baron, for having been the involuntary cause of so much disturbance," he instantly laid it aside and made an attempt to rise from his chair in answer to her words. It was many years since he had exchanged a word with a lady, but the memory of the time when he lived in society stirred within him as he looked at Anna. He had supposed that a negligent word of greeting would suffice for a governess, after all only a kind of upper servant, but he saw before him a lady to whom he involuntarily paid a mach greater degree of respect. It was not Anna's extraordinary beauty that thus impressed him, although he found it admirable, but a certain indescribable something which characterized her, and which her unsuitable dress could not conceal. She had left her drenched clothing at Inspector Hauk's, in the village of Hohenwald, and had borrowed a dark woollen dress of his wife's, which, although much too large for her slender figure, could not disguise its beautiful proportions.
A few minutes previously the Freiherr had not been by any means inclined to receive kindly the disturber of his domestic peace, but as he looked into Anna's pale face, and thought he saw an entreaty for kindness in her fine eyes, the expression of irritation vanished from his features, and he said, very kindly and simply, "You are heartily welcome, Fräulein!"
These were the first words that Anna heard from the dreaded woman-hater, the stern Freiherr. Her future pupil's reception of her was far more effusive; she had taken Celia's heart by storm. While Anna was speaking to the old Baron, the girl stood rapt in admiration of the stranger's exquisite smile and melodious voice, and when she turned from the father to the daughter, the latter threw her arms around her in a sudden burst of girlish enthusiasm, which conveyed a far more cordial welcome than could have been given in words. Anna gently kissed her brow and felt inexpressibly pleased by the manner of Celia's greeting, founding upon it the brightest hopes for the future.
And what did the Freiherr say to this infringement of the rule he had laid down but a few short minutes before? He was not in the least angry; he smiled benignantly, and watched with great satisfaction the two charming girls, the governess, apparently but a few years the elder of the two, and his darling, his will-o'-the-wisp. Paternal pride whispered to him that, beautiful as the stranger was, she was no lovelier than Celia.
Arno by no means shared his father's satisfaction. His face grew dark as he looked at Anna. What magical charm did this stranger, whom Werner had introduced among them, possess, to enable her thus, by a single word, to transform his father, prompting him to utter that "heartily welcome," and now so completely winning over Celia, who had naturally rebelled against the idea of a governess? Had she not even made a far deeper impression upon himself than he was willing to admit? She must be an adept in the art of pleasing.
"Now you shall have supper," said the Freiherr; and Arno rang the bell to have it served immediately, and then pushed his father's chair up to the table. It was only when old Franz had placed the dishes on the table that Celia observed that Werner's place was empty. Her father noticed this at the same time, and they asked, simultaneously, "Where is Werner?"
"Where you would least suspect him to be, father," replied Arno. "The Finanzrath is so far exalted above the traditional prejudices of his family that he has accepted Herr Kurt von Poseneck's invitation, and is at this moment either calmly supping with the Amtsrath Friese and Herr von Poseneck, or comfortably tucked in bed at Grünhagen."
This announcement produced very different effects upon Celia and her father. Celia blushed crimson; but so far from seeming shocked at Werner's transgression, she laughed merrily, and asked, "How did it happen?"
The Freiherr, on the contrary, would have risen hastily from his chair had not his gout prevented; he muttered an oath, and exclaimed, "What a devil of a story is this? Werner at Grünhagen with those scoundrels of Posenecks!"
"Why should you speak so harshly of Herr von Poseneck, papa?" Celia asked, indignantly.
The Baron gazed at his child in amazement. "What is the child thinking of?" he asked. "Actually taking me to task! Since when have you become the champion of the Posenecks, little one?"
"It seems to me unjust to abuse the absent, who do not deserve it, and cannot defend themselves!"
"How do you know what the Posenecks deserve? Would you send your old father to school? Truly, it seems high time that your education were looked after, child."
Celia's cheek grew more crimson still, but she made no reply to her father's reproof. Arno had listened to the brief war of words with a smile. "Positively," he said, "I shall henceforth believe in signs and wonders. A Hohenwald partakes of the hospitality of Grünhagen; Celia appears as the champion of the Posenecks; my father scolds his darling, and she makes no reply! Who can discredit miracles after all this?"
"Nonsense!" the Freiherr rejoined, peevishly. "Rather tell me how Werner came to meet that Poseneck fellow."
In answer Arno gave a narrative of the evening's adventures. He had determined to state the simple facts to his father, alluding as little as possible to Fräulein Anna Müller, but as he proceeded, his remembrance of the scene at the quarry was so vivid that he went farther than he had intended. He could not forbear, for mere justice' sake, to enlarge somewhat upon the courage and unselfishness of Anna's conduct, in contrast with Werner's weakness and egotism, when he told how, although wounded herself, she had declined his aid and had begged him instantly to bestow it upon old John. He did not utter one word of praise, but in his description of what had occurred there was much commendation implied, while he did not spare his sarcasm in speaking of Werner's very slight injury.
Anna was not a little embarrassed by his account; she would have liked to disclaim Arno's praise, but what could she say while he confined himself to a narrative of facts? When Celia, however, turned to her with a warm caress, saying, "Good heavens, you are wounded, and have said nothing to us about it!" she smilingly lifted the dark-brown curls upon her forehead, and said, "You see it is a mere scratch; the village doctor attended to it, and told me that it would be perfectly healed in a few days. It really is nothing."
Arno confirmed her words, and went on to reassure his father as to old John's condition, which Dr. Brühn pronounced to be not at all dangerous, although his injury had at first seemed grave. He then gave a detailed account of Werner's desire from the first to go to Grünhagen, and of how he was not to be dissuaded from accepting Kurt von Poseneck's invitation, which, Arno admitted, was most amiably and courteously tendered.
The Freiherr nodded, well pleased, when he heard how the Hohenwald people had refused to carry old John to Grünhagen, but he was all the more irritated by the Finanzrath's acceptance of Kurt's invitation. "It is disgraceful!" he exclaimed. "How could a Hohenwald forget himself so far as to accept hospitality at the hands of a beggarly Poseneck!"
"It is not at all nice of you, papa!" Celia instantly declared, with flaming cheeks and flashing eyes. "How can you, who are usually just and good, speak so unkindly of Herr von Poseneck, who has never done anything to you? It is poor thanks to him for hurrying out to the quarry in the storm to help Werner. And Werner was perfectly right to accept the invitation; what had he to do with an old worn-out feud? Herr Kurt von Poseneck certainly had no share in it; he has only lately arrived from America."
"Why, what an eloquent advocate the Posenecks have in our little one!" Arno rejoined, before his father, who was quite speechless with astonishment, could frame a reply. "And in truth she is partly right, for the young Herr von Poseneck certainly conducted himself excessively well on this occasion; nevertheless, I did not wish to accept his invitation, nor did Fräulein Müller; Werner, however, is superior to all Hohenwald prejudice. The Finanzrath knows far better how to conduct himself than we, who rust here in Castle Hohenwald, possibly can. His father and brother ought to be banished to the lumber-garret,--eh, Celia?"
"Come, come; have done with sneering, Arno. Go on with your story," the girl replied.
"You are right. Disputing cannot change matters; that neither my father, nor Werner, nor I can do. You and I belong to the old order of affairs, father; we must be content to find others leaving us; and it is but natural that Celia should vow allegiance to modern ideas; so I will not waste another word upon the Posenecks, although I confess I practise self-denial in not doing so." And he finished his narrative, describing Anna's courageous braving of the storm and rain on their way to the Inspector's at the village of Hohenwald, where they found warmth and shelter, and whence a messenger was despatched for Dr. Brühn, who soon pronounced upon old John's case and dressed the cut upon Fräulein Müller's forehead. Then, after Arno had exchanged his wet clothes for a suit of the Inspector's, and Fräulein Müller had been provided with garments from his wife's wardrobe, a village wagon had brought them both to the castle.
The old Baron was greatly interested in Arno's account; even Werner's visit to Grünhagen was almost forgotten as he eagerly listened to his son's narrative. The new governess was evidently no spoiled city lady. He briefly expressed to her his admiration and gratitude, and it pleased him still more that Anna quietly declined to accept any thanks for what was merely a matter of course and of no consequence.
Meanwhile, it had grown late, and still, contrary to his custom, the Freiherr leaned comfortably back in his rolling-chair and said not one word of retiring, so interested was he in discussing the events of the evening. Suddenly, however, he happened to glance at the clock, and discovering that it was just about to strike one, he remembered how fatigued Fräulein Müller must be. Directing Celia to show her to her apartment, he had himself rolled into his bedroom by Arno, after wishing the new governess a courteous good-night.